


keep making trouble til you find what you love

by dreadedlaramie



Series: i don't know where i'm going but i don't think i'm coming home [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bonnie & Clyde, Consent Issues, Gunplay, M/M, Manipulation, Read the notes yo, disturbing fantasies xo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadedlaramie/pseuds/dreadedlaramie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is unstoppable with a gun in his hand, his voice and hands steady, a half-smile on his mouth and power glinting in his eyes— Cas’ hands still shake, his voice would still waver, and Dean does all the talking, reminds them all that no one has to get hurt (his tone implies that he’s itching for an excuse).<br/>Silent alarms make a not-quite-there sound that sets your teeth on edge, and they walk <i>don’t run never run</i> out to Sam where he sits behind the wheel of the idling Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep making trouble til you find what you love

**Author's Note:**

> OK KIDDOS BUCKLE UP
> 
> this fic includes consent issues in the form of someone being emotionally manipulated into sexual activity, and disturbing fantasies to the tune of extremely dubious consent at best, death/being killed, and... uh. vague necrophilia.
> 
> my only regret is that it isn't longer. theyre already preparing my place in hell, dont worry

Dean is unstoppable with a gun in his hand, his voice and hands steady, a half-smile on his mouth and power glinting in his eyes— Cas’ hands still shake, his voice would still waver, and Dean does all the talking, reminds them all that no one  _ has _ to get hurt (his tone implies that he’s itching for an excuse).

Silent alarms make a not-quite-there sound that sets your teeth on edge, and they walk don’t run never run out to Sam where he sits behind the wheel of the idling Impala.

 

\--

 

Dean is unstoppable with the barrel of a gun pushed up under his jawbone and Cas’ mouth on his, pressed hard against the wall by Cas’ body and the chill of metal against his skin.

“Cas,  _ please _ ,” and here Dean’s voice is shaky, trembling breath but it’s all wrong, pupils dilate from want just as readily as from fear, and

Cas pulls the gun away, and Dean looks ready to protest, worried Cas misinterpreted— Cas hits him across the face with the gun, hard enough to leave the ghost of an outline.

“Shut up.”

“ _ god _ ,” Dean exhales, and Cas hits him again.

“How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet?”

“Oh, at least one more time.”

 

There’s no mistaking who’s in charge here, for all Cas has the gun— from the beginning, it’s always been Dean, calling the shots here just like everywhere else, even with a hand on his throat or a gun to his temple.

The first time, Dean was warm and too close, hot breath and sharp teeth on Cas’ neck, hard sell all the way,  _ baby i give you what you need don’t i anything you want don’t hold out on me now baby please _ , palming at Cas’ crotch through denim. Cas feels like he did when they first met, like cornered prey, like he’s looking at that all-teeth smile again. He knows enough to know it shouldn’t be like this, but

But he wants Dean and Dean wants this (and he’s learning that Dean gets what he wants), so he does say  _ yes _ , doesn’t bother trying to mask the shake and waver of his voice, and Dean brightens,  _ i knew you wouldn’t let me down baby _ , hands Cas the gun from his waistband.

Cas moves to unload it and Dean stops him. “No. Loaded.” and Cas swallows hard, does as he’s told. (He comes harder than he thought possible)

 

This isn’t the first time, so far from it, and Cas has grown into his foreign role, finds it easy now to command Dean to kneel, to use him like he wants to be used. Finds himself wanting to use Dean like that, for all its wrongness, finds himself not caring anymore.

Dean kneels without a word, so obedient when he wants to be, stares straight ahead until Cas tucks the gun under his chin and tilts Dean’s head up hard. For all the time Cas has had to get used to it, something about Dean looking up at him, vulnerable and open and desperate, makes his breath hitch every time.

He works to keep his voice steady and commanding. “You have five minutes,” because Dean likes a bit of a challenge, likes the uncertainty, the risk that maybe this time he won’t be able to, that maybe this time—

Dean undoes Cas’ jeans and Cas puts the gun against Dean’s temple and pulls back the hammer. The unspoken rule is no hands, and Dean folds his arms behind his back before he licks a stripe up the shaft, wraps his lips around the head, his tongue working as he moves up and down.

Cas lets his head fall forward to rest against the wall and groans, allows Dean control for only a moment before he grips Dean’s hair tight with his free hand and pushes his hips forward hard and sudden. Dean gags, just a little, pure reflex, and Cas fucks into it, even as Dean works breathless to adjust.

Dean does adjust, because this is how it goes, this is what he wants, what he needs. He moans and Cas’ hips stutter, start to lose their rhythm, and Cas pushes further in, as far as he can, the head of his cock embraced by the cartilage of Dean’s trachea. Dean works his throat, swallows once, twice.

 

Cas pulls the trigger as he comes.

 

The gun clicks, empty, but Dean’s head fills with how it could have gone, a hole blasted through his skull and Cas spending down his throat, then pulling out and away and letting Dean fall to the floor to bleed all over the dirty carpet.

Dean imagines Cas’ finger slipping and tensing and ending Dean too early, wonders if Cas would keep going and finish anyway (hopes he would).

 

He comes like the shot that didn’t.

 

Dean doesn’t mind that the gun wasn’t loaded, like it was supposed to be— another unspoken rule— not really, not yet; he’ll wait to punish Cas, wait until Cas is wanting and ready, then refuse (part of him wants Cas to have him anyway, use him rough and desperate and hungry, no asking or telling just taking; he wants it more than he’d ever admit, too much to ask for it).

 

Dean thinks back on how Cas was before, some starry-eyed country boy who’d never watched mile markers flash by at 100 miles an hour or held a gun or fucked anyone, thinks about how much has changed in him— how he’ll point a gun at an innocent teller or fuck Dean’s face easily and without being told (two sides of the same coin, the same ruination)— and the thought makes him feel giddy, powerful, unstoppable.

**Author's Note:**

> "is this even a bonnie and clyde au anymore, or just an excuse for a certain brand of incredibly trashy porn?"  
> no comment


End file.
